What Do You Sing For?

June 9, 2017

By Anonymous,

To feed my selfish talent that storms like wildfire Through my seconds and my minutes and my hours and my days Until my time is represented through my writings on a page I would rather spend my time being locked up in a cage Than being told my singing is forbidden on my own stage

Like the canary to the grizzled hand that feeds it: I will sing, to the gods above and preach to those below them Because my expressions of greater message soar higher than the depressions Provided by the upper petty population meant to penetrate My feeling of purpose and my feeling of belonging My paper flesh, my scribbled veins, my inky blood My creations, my time, my prophecy I'll rip it from the invisible hands of structure And craft into something the entire world cannot puncture

Because this is my time, and this my music This is my song, and this is my moment This is all I ever wanted, and it's all I want to get I won't sing for my bills but I'll sing past my death I won't sing for the thrills but I'll sing my last breath Because the last word I utter will be one from myself And when I have crumbled like a sand castle reaching tide Dust unto dust, and my mind all but quiet You can plant me in the ground with a seed from a tree And my endless temple of stone will say that, well, I sang for me

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